Nine

This poem was originally written when our eldest turned nine.
Since that day, we've had many family members pass that great milestone.
Our fifth grandchild just attained it.
This is for him . . .

Eldest son, Mark, Nine Years Old

Number Five. With grandparents . . .

Well, now I'm nine and you can see

The changes time has wrought in me.

I've grown three feet since I was born,

As tall and slim as a stalk of corn.

I've learned about so many things,

I know of bikes and kites and strings.

I can cook and clean and comb my hair,

And help my brothers with evening prayer.

I can haul in wood, or hammer nails,

Or water trees with heavy pails.

I can hold the baby, shine my shoes,

Or sit with you and discuss the news.

I can play piano perfectly,

And beat you at Monopoly.

I can take out garbage, weed and hoe,

Then eat the carrots, row by row.

In fact I've grown so big and tall,

With doing chores and playing ball,

That maybe you can't really see

How young and weak I still can be.

How I take Raccoon to bed at night,

And ask you to leave on the light.

How I still like my whole face kissed

And like to make a 'Christmas List'.

And even though I numb your knee,

I like to be held tenderly.

I like to know that you are proud

And have you tell me right out loud.

Please understand, with all my size,

With knowing looks in big brown eyes,

That I am not as big, you see

As my outside appears to be.

Ignore my size and adult airs,

Forget that I've climbed lots of stairs.

Just hug and kiss and try to see

That little child inside of me.

Mondays would be just another day without poetry!

My friends Delores and Jenny agree.

Visit them and see how they've started their week!